Brighter Shores - full story
by Woodwind
Summary: Slash, Marty/Doc. This is my version of the events that unfold following that fateful night of October 26. It includes the transformation of a close friendship to romantic love, the escalating hatered of a close-minded community and a journey with a destination far from Hill Valley.
1. A Change of Plan

**Brighter Shores**

_Author's notes_

_I do not own Back To The Future. If I did, I'd be riding the DeLorean to work. The characters and original plot are all properties of Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale. You guys rock!_

_This is slash__. Marty and Doc will become an item. I aim to keep it romantic, but if this idea freaks you out, you should read no further. Consider yourself warned._

_The story begins with Doc driving Marty home after returning to 1985 (near the end of the first movie). This is where I hijack the timeline. In my world, part II and III never happened (or any allusions to part II at the end of the first movie). However, I might make use of stuff that I find to be in character, like minor incidents, facts or lines, from the sequels. Apologies to canon lovers._

_In the descriptive text (though not in dialogue), I will use the names "Doc" and "Emmett" interchangeably. _

_The title for this fic was inspired by "On Stranger Seas & Brighter Shores"; another BTTF fic on archiveofourown by amyfortuna._

_Special thanks__ to my awesome beta reader MagicSwede1965, whose keen eye for literary detail and vast knowledge of the English language made this work see the day of light. I am forever indebted to You for Your kind feedback and constructive criticism. I feel very privileged to have You reading my work and would happily recommend You as beta!_

_Special acknowledgment__ also to marty-emmett, my partner in crime for this pairing. Your blog is wonderfully inspirational and keeps me going. You are the lamp above my pen and scroll._

_On a last note: English is not my first language and although I love BTTF, I do not profess to absolute accuracy. If you notice errors of any kind, please let me know and I will attempt to correct them._

_Enjoy!_

_._

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_._

The street was dark and quiet as the DeLorean turned into Lyon Drive. It was almost three hours past midnight, and people were fast asleep. The odd-looking car moved smoothly beneath the heavy canopies of trees lining the street. Here and there, light spilled from porches and wall-mounted exterior lamps, but the windows were dark and there was no other movement than the lazy swaying of the trees in the raw night air.

Marty shot a glance at "Doc" Emmett Brown who was sitting at the wheel. The elderly scientist was looking straight ahead and his thoughts seemed far away. He had been uncharacteristically quiet when he gave Marty a ride home tonight. _Granted_, Marty thought, _Doc had been gunned down by terrorists a little more than an hour ago_. That might button you up a bit. Marty wondered what taking a swarm of bullets to a bulletproof vest would feel like. Probably worse than any time he had fallen off his skateboard, the seventeen-year-old concluded. Which was bad, since he had taken some really nasty tumbles in his days. But still. They had just proven time travel was possible, for crying out loud! Marty had expected Doc to be dancing in the street.

Less than two hours ago, Marty had met up with Doc at the deserted parking lot of the Twin Pines Mall. (Actually, it was the Lone Pine Mall now, but never mind.) Hurrying down there, bringing Doc's video camera as instructed, Marty had wondered what crazy experiment Doc had set up this time. He had known it was something out of the ordinary, since his friend had been away a lot lately. Doc would never leave his lab for any extended period of time unless he was deeply involved with some project that demanded dealings beyond the confines of his workshop. Even Einstein, Doc's shaggy and jovial sheepdog, had gone missing. Marty had been stopping by Doc's garage several days this week, but had turned around the first few times at finding the door locked. Becoming worried as the days passed, he had finally decided to look around the garage for clues of Doc's whereabouts. Using the hidden key Doc had entrusted him, Marty had entered the place that was as always buzzing with mechanical activity. Doc had left the equipment running when he went away. The automatic food dispenser had been refilling Einie's bowl until the heap of canned food had spilled over on the floor. In spite of all that mechanized bustle, the place had felt mysteriously deserted. But somehow the scientist must have sensed that Marty would be around that particular morning at that particular time, since (shortly after a minor incident with an amplifier) the telephone had been ringing and Doc, in a whispering, husky voice, had asked Marty to meet with him the following night. Something was obviously going on, but Doc had offered no further explanation.

Coming up on Doc's van in the middle of the open car park, Marty had expected just about anything; a rocket-powered shopping cart, a subterran vehicle equipped with a monstrous drill in front, seven-league boots… Unfortunately, many of Doc's inventions did not always work or turn out as intended. Still, the youngest McFly had felt cheerful and excited both at the prospect of seeing his friend and finding out what he had been up to. Doc had been unusually secretive about this project. Generally, Marty would assist him on his contraptions and gadgets in the lab and Doc was more than willing to offer Marty detailed explanations of the mechanics or physics or chemistry behind his work. Not that Marty was overly interested in the science part, but he enjoyed watching the result. And he liked spending time with Doc.

When Doc had showed up in the DeLorean, it had seemed a bit anti-climactic. It was a cool car, but it was still a car. Marty had then figured that he was about to document Doc performing some run-of-the-mill velocity test, the way the scientist had been going on about clocks and speed. When he had noticed that Doc had the car hooked up to a remote, however, the project had immediately showed more potential. Doc had placed Einstein in the driver's seat, then hit the control on his remote and the car had accelerated to 88 miles per hour. Suddenly, in a flash, it had vanished, leaving only fiery tracks behind! That's when Marty had really woken up. _Jesus Christ!_ A minute later, there had been another flash, and the car had jumped back into the parking lot, out of nowhere. Apparently, Doc had sent it one minute into the future. Einstein had not seemed the least rattled.

That had been about the time when the terrorists showed up. The DeLorean – or more accurately, the time machine – ran on plutonium, so Doc had swiped some stolen plutonium from a bunch of terrorists and replaced it with broken pinball machine parts. This somewhat careless act (which was not entirely uncommon of his friend), had really pissed off those guys, as was widely apparent as they came charging into the parking lot in that fateful minibus, guns blazing. To Marty's utter horror, Doc had been shot and he himself had been lucky enough to escape in the DeLorean. As he floored the gas pedal, he had not paid any attention to the illuminated numbers on the dashboard. He had figured he might shake them at 90, but all of a sudden, the parking lot had disappeared and the car had rushed headlong across a field and into a barn in 1955.

There he had spent a week, meeting a thirty-year-younger Doc, getting hit on by his mum, running away from his father's future supervisor, Biff Tannen, fixing the timeline, playing guitar at a school dance… Well, long story short, thanks' to his friend Doc (the younger version), he had gotten back to 1985 again. Before returning, he had tried to warn the scientist about the terrorists, but younger Doc had been as stubborn as his older counterpart. With Doc refusing to hear Marty's words and tearing up his letter of warning, Marty had believed all to be lost as he had returned to his own time, too late to save Doc from the shooting. As it turned out, Doc had pieced the letter together and taken precaution after all. Marty's eyes fell on the discarded armored vest at his feet and felt a wave of gratitude.

"So… How far ahead are you going?" Marty asked with some hesitation as they pulled up on the driveway of 9303 where Marty lived with his parents, brother and sister. Traveling into the future had been Doc's initial plan. For some reason, the question made Marty oddly wistful. He fidgeted with the tip of his skateboard, feeling the worn grip tape like soft sandpaper under his fingertips.

"Huh?" Emmett blinked. The pensive expression on his face dissolved and he turned towards Marty.

"The future," his young friend offered helpfully. For the first time on the drive back, Emmett noticed how tired and weary Marty looked. The youth's face was slightly flushed from exhaustion and heavy eyelids screened his usually wide, blue eyes.

The scientist frowned.

"No, Marty. I have decided to destroy the time machine."

"Destroy it?! Marty's eyes got bigger. "What about all that stuff about seeing the future and looking beyond your years? The progress of mankind?"

"The risk is just too great as this incident proves. Just imagine the danger if the time machine were to fall in the wrong hands! What if the terrorists had discovered the true nature of this car?"

"Yeah, but Doc…"

"Look, Marty," the scientist smiled sadly, "I only wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. That I have what it takes to count myself among the great intellects of history; the Einsteins, the Edisons, the Curies. I wanted to make a spectacular breakthrough, to witness one of my inventions really work." After a moment's pause, he added solemnly: "And now I have."

Marty wanted to argue back. It seemed a terrible waste to destroy such an incredible invention. And Doc had been working on it for thirty years. Surely it was not all to prove a point? Regardless of what the others might say about him in Hill Valley, Doc was the smartest person Marty knew and even if he had never built the time machine, he was still a great inventor. But it was late, and Marty was tired. Though Doc was gifted with brilliance, he was gifted with stubbornness in nearly equal proportion. Changing his mind about something was next to impossible.

"Just think about it, Doc," Marty said, as he made to shut the door to the passenger's seat of the DeLorean.

"I'm quite certain, Marty," Emmett said with a nod and a small smile as he held the youth's gaze for a moment. Then he broke away and put the car in reverse. "Good night."

"All right. Good night, Doc. Good night, Einie."

The gull-wing door closed with the whirring sound of the retraction mechanics. The car backed out of the driveway and Marty gave a final gesture of goodbye with a slight rise of his board as he watched Doc turn around and drive away. Then the youth made for the side door and sneaked back into his room through the window he had left ajar on his way out earlier that night.

It was 10:28 AM. The alarm started playing. Drifting slowly towards consciousness, the familiar surroundings dimly returned to Marty. He realized he was lying on his bed, belly down, like he usually slept. Next, he could feel he was fully clothed, in shirt and jeans. That was a bit odd, but nothing entirely out of the ordinary. Then, as last night's events washed over him in haphazard sequence, he jerked up to a sitting position.

"What a nightmare..!" Marty said aloud, uncertainly. But everything around him seemed perfectly normal. As he made his way to the kitchen to have some breakfast, that conclusion was to be completely revised.

Marty stopped short in his tracks and swung around on his heel. The family lounge looked amazing! All the rundown, tacky furniture was gone and replaced by a white leather couch and armchairs and there were real paintings mounted on the walls and potted plants… Before Marty had time to reflect on this miracle, his thoughts were interrupted by the voices of his siblings.

"Oh, if Paul calls me tell him I'm working at the boutique late tonight."

"Linda, first of all, I'm not your answering service. Second of all, somebody named Greg or Craig called you just a little while ago." David looked up from his newspaper.

"Now which one was it, Greg or Craig?"

"I don't know, I can't keep up with all of your boyfriends."

Marty could not believe the scene that just played out in front of him. Like the family lounge, the dining area was neat and well-furnished. And his brother and sister were both dressed as if they were going to a fancy dinner. And Linda – boyfriends?

"Hey," he blurted out. They looked up at Marty. "What the hell is this?" It was not one of his most eloquent moments.

Linda and David looked puzzled.

"Breakfast," Linda replied matter-of-factly.

"What, did you sleep in your clothes again last night?" David gave Marty a look of slight disapproval.

Suddenly self-aware at the critical look of his older brother, Marty felt a streak of embarrassment. This was a new experience, as his brother had never cared about appearances.

"Yeah, I… Yeah. What are you wearing, Dave?"

"Marty, I always wear a suit to the office. You all right?"

Marty could not believe his eyes and ears. Last time he saw his brother (which was last night), Dave was working at a burger restaurant. And Linda had never had a date in her life.

Then his parents came in.

"I think we need a rematch." Lorraine was laughing.

"Oh, a rematch! Why? Where you cheating?" George replied teasingly, carrying a bag of tennis rackets. His dad looked like Sonny Crocket in black sunglasses and a trim suit. He flashed a white smile.

"Good morning," Lorraine said cheerfully.

Marty felt faint.

His parents – his whole family – looked great! The house looked great! Everything had changed since he left home last night. Somehow, Marty realized, his journey to 1955 must have altered the future.

"Good morning, Mom," Linda said. "Oh, Marty, I almost forgot. Jennifer Parker called."

"Oh, I sure like her, Marty," his mother injected enthusiastically. "She is such a sweet girl. Isn't tonight the night of the big date?"

Marty could not quite remember to what his mother was referring.

"What, what, ma?"

"Well, aren't you going up to the lake tonight? You've been planning it for two weeks."

Suddenly awkward and fumbling for words, Marty offered the one piece of self-evident fact he hoped would settle the matter:

"Well, ma, we talked about this. We're not gonna go to the lake. The car is wrecked." Marty was surprised at how little it bothered him. Just yesterday – or a week ago – this business about the car had made him rather upset.

"Wrecked?!" Everyone yelled and jumped to their feet. George tried to calm them down. "I'm sure the car is fine." He went to the door, opened it and pointed:

"See there is Biff out there waxing it right now."

Biff Tannen was busy rubbing a coat of wax on the hood of the car. Only it was not the old Chevy any longer, it was a brand new BMW. Marty felt like his mind was about to implode. George patiently admonished Biff to wax the car properly, in a self-assertive way Marty had never heard his father use his voice before.

The next surprise was the arrival of George's book. Apparently, his Dad was now a writer and had just had his first novel published.

"Like I always told you, if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything," George told Marty in a lecturing tone.

_Actually_, Marty thought, _that was Doc's saying_. But Marty might have mentioned it to young George in 1955.

Then Biff handed Marty a set of keys.

"You're all waxed up, ready for tonight," Biff said in an eager-to-please tone of voice.

As he opened the garage door, Marty held his breath. And there, black and newly waxed, was the 4x4 he had always dreamt about! His jaw slacked. Running his hand over the smooth surface of the Toyota pickup truck, and leaning on the door to the driver's side, Marty tried to take it all in. It was all too overwhelming.

"How about a ride, Mister?"

Marty turned around at the familiar voice.

"Jennifer!"

To Marty's great relief, Jennifer looked exactly like her old self. Her hair, her clothes, the white purse slung over her right shoulder – she had not changed. After just having had his entire life turned upside down – even if it was in a good way – he was in desperate need for a fixed point of reference.

"Oh, are you a sight for sore eyes," Marty said. "Let me look at you." He was relieved to find that she held up to his closer inspection.

"Marty, you're acting like you haven't seen me in a week." Jennifer gave him a mild look of concern.

"I haven't." The odd reply had Jennifer inconspicuously checking Marty's temple for any signs of fever.

"You okay? Is everything all right?" She brushed his arm gently.

Marty turned around and caught sight of his parents standing in the doorway of the house. His mother was cradling George's novel in her arms, leaning happily on his father's chest. They looked like Mike and Carol in "The Brady Bunch."

"Aw yeah, everything is great." Marty leaned in and kissed Jennifer. His head was spinning. Time travelling must have given him some serious jetlag, he concluded, because he was finding it hard to catch up to this altered reality. But his new life was perfect. His family was successful, the McFlys were pretty well-to-do, Biff was not his dad's bullying boss anymore… Marty cast a glance over Jennifer's shoulder at the monster pickup. _Everything is great_, he repeated in his head. Then he started thinking about Doc, and whether he was in his garage right now, dismantling the time machine. He would try to get over there later, he decided, eager to tell Doc about all the crazy stuff that had happened since he had woken up. He'd take the Toyota pickup.

"Marty…?" Jennifer was looking at him expectantly and a bit worriedly. Marty snapped out of his thoughts. He was vaguely aware of having missed something she had been saying.

"So what time will you pick me up?" she asked, smiling and tugging playfully on his shirt.

"Aw… What?"

"The lake." A look of concern crossed Jennifer's face like the shadow of a cloud passes over a sunlit landscape. "You haven't forgotten about our date, have you?"

He had forgotten about it. Inwardly, Marty groaned, but he managed to keep a straight face. The prospect of going up to the lake tonight did not jostle him with excitement. All he really wanted right now was some rest and some time to settle in and adjust to his new life. That, and to see Doc.

But he could not tell Jennifer about the time machine and he could not put off their plans without telling her about it. Caught in that loop, Marty resigned and gave Jennifer a reassuring smile.

"Of course not. See you at six?"

Hesitating for just the briefest moment, Jennifer eyed him quizzically. Then her concern seemed to melt away, and she smiled back.

"Great." She gave him a quick kiss.

"See you tonight," she called as she stepped off the driveway and turned into the street.

Marty waved.

"Can't wait," he said quietly, still smiling.


	2. The Lake

The fire cracked and shot small sprays of amber sparks into the fading twilight. By now, the sun had long set behind the mountains and the first stars were emerging in the unfolding darkness. Around the camp, tall Jeffrey pines rose like massive pillars of bronze in the glow and somewhere beyond, a shimmering expanse of water stretched across the border to Nevada.

Marty was sitting on a hefty log, carefully turning a stick with a marshmallow propped at the far end over the fire. The puff was a perfectly golden brown, evenly colored on all sides. He watched it rotate absentmindedly as he recalled an experiment in Doc's lab when they had tested the efficiency of a homemade vacuum chamber. Afterwards, they had roasted the remaining marshmallows over a Bunsen burner.

"It's so beautiful here." Jennifer's voice brought him back to the present. The marshmallow had burned to a crisp on one side. She was looking up at the stars gleaming through the trellis of the tree limbs. A pale wisp of smoke snaked upwards as if on the prowl for the moths swarming around the glow on the trunks. Marty felt Jennifer move closer, inching in his direction on the log.

"Don't you think it's beautiful?" She leaned in close. Marty warily lifted his eyes from the marshmallow. Jennifer smiled and her eyes sparkled in the firelight. Her flowing brown hair glowed. Just as Marty was racking his brain for an apt reply, he lost his balance. With an undignified flaying of his arms, and a loud thump, he hit the ground behind the log.

"Marty! Are you alright?" Jennifer gasped.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine." After some desperate kicking and twisting, Marty managed to get back on his feet again, panting harder than his ordeal should have entailed. He remained standing.

"What's wrong, Marty?" Jennifer regarded him carefully. There was no hint of anger in her voice, but he could see the look of hurt on her face.

_Yes, what the hell was wrong with him?_ he thought. They had been planning this trip for weeks. He had been looking forward to it. Why was he suddenly feeling so uneasy? He was clammy with perspiration and his heart was pricking him rather uncomfortably in his chest.

The unofficial plan was that this date would take their relationship to the next level. He cast an unintentional glace at the pair of sleeping bags on the fringe of the campfire light. Jennifer followed his gaze.

"Oh… Are you nervous?" she suggested, her voice a bare whisper and her expression softening.

"No!" Marty felt his cheeks burn and the reply came out faster and louder than he had intended. He shifted position uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes while unconsciously smoothing the hair on the back of his head.

"It's all right," Jennifer said soothingly, "let's just sit and talk for a while." With a smile and a subtle motion of her head, she indicated the spot next to her on the log. Marty reluctantly complied.

They sat quietly and listened to the fire and the sounds of the forest. Marty kept poking in the dirt with his stick, drawing random circles that turned into a solitary game of tic-tac-toe. When they used the chalkboard for a session, Doc would always be the "X" and Marty would be the "O".

"So…" Jennifer began hesitantly. "Have you decided your college yet?"

Thinking about college never failed to produce that tight knot in Marty's belly. It was not that he was the worst student. He just could not bring himself to put in a lot of hard work in his spare time, doing homework and paper stuff. His teachers would always say he was bright, and if he just put a little effort into his assignments he would achieve more. As it were, his grades were rather mediocre. Not bad, but sure not good enough for Stanford, where Jennifer wanted to go.

"Um, no. I haven't," Marty replied while consciously trying to smooth out the wrinkle of concern that had just formed on his forehead.

But it was not just about his grades, Marty knew. The real problem was that he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. This was his senior year, and the prospect of having to decide his entire future based on his choice of college terrified him. The truth was, he liked his life the way it was. _Hell_, he thought, _I've just come back to the life I've always dreamt of_, and he wanted it to stay that way for a while. But naturally, things would change. He would graduate in about six months.

What did he want to do? He wanted to be a rock star. He knew that was unrealistic, but the Pinheads had spoken about renting a bus, driving around the state and playing at some minor hangouts. They could still do that if Marty went to college next fall. But it would be like a farewell tour. After that, it seemed like he would more or less have to hang up his guitar for good.

And he wanted to work with Doc in his garage. He had been going there several nights a week for more than two years. The place was like his second home. _Heck_, he thought, _maybe even my first home_. Going there was something he looked forward to while he was in social studies class, struggling with mind-numbing exercises of law and politics. Or in art class, doodling from memory some fantastic contraption he had seen in his friend's lab. His art teacher would encourage him to draw comics.

"Jen," Marty began. "Have you ever… Have you ever thought about taking a year off before college? Get a job, some perspective… Life experience?"

"Are you crazy?!" Jennifer looked shocked. Marty immediately regretted ever mentioning anything. Still, he pressed on.

"I mean, college will still be there. And it's just…" He could not say he wanted to play guitar and hang out with Doc. "I just don't know if my grades are good enough to get in."

Jennifer let out her breath. To Marty's surprise, she gave him a feeble smile.

"Oh, Marty. I'm the one who should be worried. I don't know if I will be accepted by Harvard."

"What?!" _Harvard?_

She looked embarrassed. Marty's wrinkle suddenly got company.

"I wish I had private tutoring, like you, but my parents just can't afford it."

"I have… private tutoring?"

"Quit fooling around, Marty, I'm serious." Jennifer sounded annoyed. "I mean, you're a straight-A student, but I may not graduate with perfect grades. You always inspired me." She looked at him wistfully. "You are lucky to have such devoted parents."

_Jesus Christ!_ Marty thought, feeing both delighted and alarmed at the same time. But the fact that an even greater number of choices suddenly lay before him, just made him feel more uneasy. He knew he should not be complaining; having top grades was a good thing. Nevertheless, he pushed down the wave of nausea that threatened to wash over him.

"Ah, come on, Jen, everything will be fine," he said reassuringly, as much to himself as to her. He gave her shoulders a fast and friendly squeeze, but he was eager to drop the subject as soon as possible. Jennifer was distractedly biting her knuckle, looking with a faraway gaze at the ground. She was poking Marty's marshmallow stick with disinterest at some pine cones. Then, on a whim apparently, she made an "O" in the grid he had drawn in the soil. She passed the stick to Marty and he accepted the challenge, although without any real enthusiasm.

The fire had started to go out, even though the cinders were still glowing and producing enough heat to keep back the crisp night air. Above, the twilight had given way to opaque darkness, broken only by a few brilliant pinpoints of light where the thick canopy of firs and pines opened up. The corner of Marty's lips suddenly curled into a small smile.

"What?" Jennifer looked at him.

"Oh… I was just thinking… About that time Doc and I put together a steam boiler. We had this fuel – oil I think – in a barrel. And it was connected to an oxygen tank and a billow. And Doc had taken off the downspout from the garage and mounted it on top, like a steam pipe." Marty's features got animated. "But he forgot to regulate a valve or something, and we ended up blowing a hole in the roof. You could see the stars through the gap." The youth pointed the stick to the twinkling points of light above the camp to illustrate his story. "For months," he continued, "Doc had an umbrella stuck up there, to keep the rain out. He even hung some Christmas decorations on the crook handle." Marty grinned at the recollection.

"Oh." Jennifer gave a slight smile. It faded fast but Marty's gaze was fixed on the stars.

"Tomorrow evening," Jennifer said after another pause, "would you like to come over to Grandma's for tea?"

_Ah Jeez, not Gladys!_ Marty thought desperately. She was a sweet old lady, but her house was like a disinfected museum. Ever since Grandpa Parker had passed away, she had devoted all her time to cleaning and organizing; not a teaspoon was to be dislocated. The spick and span of the place always depressed Marty and then Gladys would talk on end about her pelargoniums and her cats. Jennifer however, was very fond of her.

Marty shifted position, fidgeting with the stick and rubbing his neck.

"Um, I was sort of planning on seeing Doc tomorrow night. He's got this new project he's working on…" That was essentially true – Doc was always working on a new project.

There were a few seconds of silence in reply to his words.

"Goddamn it, Marty!" Jennifer suddenly erupted. Marty nearly fell off the log again from the unexpected outburst.

"I always come second to Doc Brown!" Her voice was shrill and she stood up abruptly.

"Wha… What? No! Come on, Jen, that's not true!" Marty too sprang to his feet and they stood facing each other.

"Sure it is. All the way driving up here, you kept talking about Doc and his projects. And you've been doing that ever since we arrived." She was articulating the words out of anger.

Distressed, Marty shifted position and raked his hand quickly through his hair.

"No, um, it's just that this last week… It's been kind of crazy. Doc really has this thing he's been working on and I've been kind of wrapped up in it…" Like always when Marty got excited, his voice would deliver some of his words unexpectedly high-pitched, rendering his statements comically melodic. He hated that.

Jennifer shrugged angrily.

"It's not just this last week!" she replied hotly. "It has _always_ been that way. Ever since we started dating - even before that. You're always running off to meet Doc and you're constantly informing me about his projects."

"You've been along sometimes," Marty retorted. Somehow, that did not come out right.

Her defiant stance sagged imperceptibly, and she suddenly got a mildly resigned look on her face.

"Yeah. I have. And I've always felt like the third wheel around you two."

"I thought you liked Doc," Marty protested.

"I do!" Her frustration surged again. Then she checked herself. "But not as much as you do."

For some reason, Marty felt a blush creeping up his face. The argument they were having was confusing. He did not understand why Jennifer was so upset or why they were fighting over Doc all of a sudden.

"Is this about Gladys?" Marty tried, flustered. "Cause if it is, I can come over for tea tomorrow."

Jennifer rolled her eyes.

"Marty, tell me honestly – who would you rather have been with tonight – me or Doc?"

Maybe the question baffled him into dumbness. But the short silence that followed somehow seemed to betray him and Marty felt something undisclosed pass between them. He could not tell what it was, but he nearly jumped from the sensation that felt so charged with indefinite meaning. A swift recollection brought back their conversation in his parents' garage earlier that day; how he had already been making plans to go to and see Doc when Jennifer had reminded him about their date. Feeling guilty, he quickly pushed the memory aside.

"Jen…" Marty held out his hand pleadingly. "I'm sorry. You're right. I guess I have been talking about Doc a lot."

She sighed. "You spend more time with Doc than you do with me. And our dates have to be booked around your projects. More often than not, we end up having to put off or cancel seeing each other because of some unscheduled science test or because some gizmo blew up or simply because you are too tired after having spent the entire night at his garage."

"Yeah, but…"

"Look Marty. I'm supposed to be your girlfriend. This is not how it should be. It was okay when we were just friends, but it's not okay anymore."

Frowning, Marty was poking in the dirt with the stick. When he spoke again, his voice sounded muffled and discouraged.

"So, are you saying that I can't see Doc anymore?" He kept his eyes on the ground.

"No." Her words were tinged with sadness, but her voice never broke. "I'm saying that maybe we should go back to 'okay'".

Marty's frown got deeper, but he replied with silence. When he finally looked up at her, he caught a glimmering trail on Jennifer's cheek, but she looked calm and composed. It hurt him to see her upset, but something kept him from reaching out to her. Uncertainly, he asked:

"So… Do you want me to take you home…?" He gave a small nod in the direction of the pickup.

She hesitated.

"No. Let's just sleep and go home tomorrow."

Nodding in agreement, Marty turned to get their gear set up for the night. Jennifer remained by the darkening bonfire, gazing at the flickering cinders. Meanwhile, Marty rolled up their sleeping bags, arranging them with a marked space apart. Jennifer looked up at the stars twinkling in the sky. This only produced to her the ridiculous thought of a Christmas umbrella. As she looked down again, she noticed in passing the three X:s drawn in a straight line on the ground.


	3. Doc's Garage

Going to see Doc was not the uncomplicated endeavor it used to be. Twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, Marty was engaged for a two-hour cramming of English and French, geography and literature with Mrs. Northwood, his private tutor. Margret (however, she insisted on the formal use of last names) was an intelligent but humorless lady in her late middle age who would show up on the McFly doorstep as punctual as an atomic clock. As Marty sat hunched over his papers and books, scribbling notes and stringing together morphemes and syntactic units into sentences, the elderly lady would peer now and then over her small, round glasses to make sure Marty was concentrating hard enough on his work. As Mrs. Northwood was of the opinion that the process of learning was obstructed by noise of any kind, the tutoring sessions usually transpired in utter silence, making time snail along. Even learning a language, down to phonology, became an exercise in glyphs. This seemed rather unnatural to Marty, who felt that language was principally to be spoken, but he made no effort to protest. Instead, he kept glancing at his watch and sometimes his gaze would wander to the window where the foliage-laden branches swayed beckoningly in the dusk and he would feel a terrible longing to slip his bonds.

"U-hum." The stern lady was looking up from her reading, nailing him with her eyes. Marty blinked and dragged his gaze away from the window again.

"Ah, please, Mar… Mrs. Northwood. Can we cut it a little shorter today? I… I'm not feeling quite well. I think I might be coming down with something," Marty pleaded.

"Your parents are paying handsomely for you to have a proper education, Mr. McFly. We shall put the time to good use," Mrs. Northwood replied stiffly, further ignoring Marty's request. "Eighteen minutes left," she added without looking up. She resumed studying her notes and Marty sighed silently as he bowed over his French exercises.

The next evening, at dinner, Marty was sitting on the edge of his seat, downing Brussels sprouts and potatoes as fast as his mother could portion them out. This afforded him a look of disapproval, but Marty was eager to finish up and clear the table as soon as possible.

"Don't gobble down your food, Marty. You'll get a hiccup," Lorraine admonished.

"Sorry, Ma. It's just, I'm in a hurry."

"Oh? Where are you going?" Then Lorraine brightened. "Are you going to see Jennifer tonight?"

Marty felt a pang of guilt.

"Um, no… I was thinking I'd go to Doc's for some guitar practice." Marty hoped Doc had been able to fix the amplifier since his last visit.

David made a subtle noise from behind his newspaper and Linda rolled her eyes.

"What?" Marty asked dumbfoundedly, looking around the table.

George gave a small shrug, taking his time to chew the Brussels carefully. After a sip of milk, he said calmly:

"I do wish you would have considered playing the cello, son. It looks better on a résumé."

"Now, dear…" Lorraine turned to George and patted his hand gently. "Marty likes to play the guitar. We should respect his decision."

"Of course." George put his hand on top of hers, smiled and nodded. But as he made to cut his potatoes in small, even pieces, he added airily: "Nevertheless, son, it is never too late to take up a new skill. If you put your mind to it."

"I'll remember that," Marty mumbled sullenly.

"And I think you should stay away from Doc Brown," David said indifferently as he neatly folded the newspaper.

His mood dropping precipitously by the minute, Marty flinched and shot him an affronted glance.

"All I am saying, little brother, is that you should mind the people you socialize with. Doc Brown is known to be a bit loony. A weirdo. Hanging out with him could reflect poorly on you. And on the rest of us too," David added, straightening his cuffs, with a small frown.

Marty played around with the last of his Brussels sprouts on his plate, having a good mind to fling it at his brother. He was fuming.

"I never thought you for a snob, Dave," Marty replied with restrain.

"Marty!" Lorraine gasped in exasperation and George nearly dropped his fork. Linda hunched quietly but kept eating. David looked mildly shocked, his jaw slightly slacking.

"May I be excused?" Marty asked while keeping his eyes fixed on the gratin dish that stood centered on the table. He waited a full second, and as there was no reaction, he made to get up and leave.

"Have you done your homework, Marty?" Lorraine's voice had an edge to it. The rest of his family quietly went back to eating.

"Yes, Ma," Marty lied.

"All right. But remember it's a school night. You have to be in bed by ten."

A curfew! He had never had a curfew in his life. That barely left him two hours. But it was two hours of freedom and Marty had no intention to waste a single minute staying there arguing. He mumbled something unintelligibly in response and darted for the door, grabbing his jacket and car keys as he went.

As the pickup pulled up on 1646 John F. Kennedy Drive, warm light was pouring out of the high-set windows on Emmett's garage doors. The air was filled with the usual aroma of fast food from the nearby Burger King but the parking lot next to the garage held only a few cars. As Marty turned off the ignition and the engine stopped running, the itching vexation he had felt all week vanished in the blink of an eye. He cheerfully dashed through the gate in the fence that surrounded the premises. A minor clamor was heard from inside as Marty headed for the side door.

"Hey, Doc?" Marty called as he entered.

There was another clank and a bang and then a protracted rattle. The scientist was nowhere in sight, but Marty caught a glance of something moving between cardboard boxes, fuel canisters and assorted electrical equipment.

"Einie!" Marty kneeled to pet the friendly dog. "Where's the Doc, boy?"

A series of clangs from the far end of the garage led Marty to a glass cylinder mounted on a support, with cables and wires going every which direction, some fastened, others dangling freely. And there, behind the cylinder, the scientist was squatting, wielding a hammer against some bars on the rig. The white lab coat falling from his shoulders like a soiled and timeworn cape was gathering in folds around the man's feet. His back turned to Marty, Emmett appeared oblivious to the young man's presence.

"Yo, Doc!" Marty called as Emmett paused in his hammering. Still no reaction. Emmett was scrutinizing his work, apparently lost in concentration. Marty hesitated. Then he tentatively reached forward. He could feel the heat on his fingertips as they hovered a fraction of an inch above the other man's shoulder. Very gently, he touched the white fabric. Feeling the scientist tense, Marty quickly pulled his hand away. Emmett turned around.

"Marty!" the older man exclaimed, smiling.

"Sorry, Doc. Didn't mean to startle you." Marty's voice sounded oddly sheepish.

"What?" Emmett was shouting. Then, before Marty could repeat his words, Emmett held up his hand in an arresting motion, and pulled out a pair of protective plugs from his ears. They exchanged a look of amusement.

"So what are you working on, Doc?" Marty asked, inspecting the cylinder and the cables. The cylinder was actually a tank, open on top and housing a transparent liquid that looked a lot like water. Two metal rods descended into the tank, and were partly submerged. Up close, Marty could see that the cables were attached to the upper ends of the rods.

"Ah!" the older man let out by way of reply, wearing a shrewd grin. He got up, dashing past Marty, and strode into the section of the garage that was designated as living space. On the sink was a pitcher and Emmett poured its amber contents into two glasses. Then he ducked his head into the freezer and returned with an ice cube tray. Pinching two cubes with a grip tong and dropping one into each glass, he turned and asked merrily: "Ice tea, Marty?"

As Marty knew Doc was going somewhere with this, he patiently replied: "No thanks."

Emmett gestured for him to come close.

"Can you see any difference between these glasses?"

Marty leaned forward over the sink. The glasses looked identical. The liquid had the same color, smelling a lot like Earl Grey tea. Marty looked harder, squatting to eye-level. Then he saw it.

"One ice cube is lying on the bottom."

Emmett looked triumphant. "That's deuterium!" he pronounced proudly. "Both ice cubes are made of frozen water. In regular water, H2O, with hydrogen and oxygen atoms, the nucleus of the hydrogen atoms simply contains one proton. But in the deuterium isotope, at least one of the hydrogen atoms contains one proton and one neutron, making water molecules of deuterium more massive."

"Heavy…" Marty was shaking the glass carefully. The sunken ice cube whirled around.

"Precisely!" Emmett jabbed a finger in the air, enthusiastically. "Deuterium is also known as 'heavy water'."

"Yeah, I think we've covered that in science class once," Marty said thoughtfully. He put the glass down on the sink. Emmett lifted it again, peered at the cube, and then took a sip of its contents.

"Ah, should you…?" Marty began.

"Don't worry, Marty. It's perfectly safe. In fact, about one out of every 3000 water molecules is one of heavy water. What I have done is to separate the heavy water from ordinary tap water. Come here." He motioned Marty back to the setup he had been working on.

"This," the scientist said, "is a deuterium still." He held out his hands to present the supported glass tank.

"Now all we need to do is to hook this up to a battery…" Marty watched attentively as Emmett fastened clamps at the loose ends of the twin cables that were connected to the rods.

"Is that water?" Marty asked, indicating the contents of the tank.

"That's right. Tap water, to be exact."

Next, Emmett rumbled through one of his cardboard boxes and returned with a 12-volt car battery. He attached one of the clamps to a terminal.

"Um, is that battery from the… ah, DeLorean?" Marty asked with a sting of distress. But Emmett was so worked up, he waved the question aside.

"Never mind that now. Not now, not now. Watch this, Marty." Then, holding his breath, Emmett attached the second clamp to the battery. Marty instinctively ducked.

But there was no explosion. Carefully, he peeked into the tank and saw a fizzling stream of tiny bubbles sprouting from the submerged part of each metal rod.

"Ha!" Emmett exclaimed jubilantly. They were standing on opposite sides of the tank. Marty looked up, smiling, meeting the radiant eyes of his friend. He imagined the spark in them was still the same as when young Emmett had constructed his first model train. The gaze was sharp and intelligent, although the impression of soundness was compromised to some degree by the unruly hair pointing in all directions. Between the eyebrows, a permanent crease resided from a lifetime of hard concentration and the cheeks were marked by time by a few well-defined lines. Suddenly aware of cataloguing his friend's facial features, Marty blinked and turned his attention back to the water tank.

"Um, and these bubbles… Is that the deuterium?" Marty knew the question was stupid. He blushed. It did not sound right, even to his ears.

"No," Emmett said fondly. "The electricity is splitting up the water molecules into oxygen gas and hydrogen gas. But because deuterium molecules are slightly more difficult to break apart than ordinary water molecules, the deuterium will accumulate in the tank."

"So one of these streams is hydrogen and one is oxygen. Which is which?" Marty gestured at the twin surge of bubbles.

The corner of Emmett's mouth twisted into a half-smile. Without answering, he went back to the sink, emptied one glass of ice tea and returned to the tank. Using a plastic tong, he submerged the glass into the water, bottom down, and then turned it upside down over one of the bubbling jets. After a moment, he carefully raised the glass and put it, bottom up, on a nearby table. Next, he fished into the pocket of his lab coat, retrieved a small box and struck a match. He held the flame to the end of a wooden splinter.

"Ready?" he asked with a glance at Marty. The youth nodded. He had a fair idea of what was coming.

Emmett squinted, the crease between his eyebrows becoming more prominent, and then with his jaw set, he carefully moved the end of the burning splinter next to the glass. With a motion of his other hand, he tilted the glass on its edge.

There was a loud bang. Not a modest "pop" like in chemistry class, when the teacher had ignited a puff of hydrogen in a small test tube. Marty jumped and nearly crashed into a ramshackle shelf behind him.

"Jesus Christ, Doc! Are you okay?" Marty cried.

"I'm fine," Emmett answered reassuringly with a grin. "The match test is a well-tried classic when you want to distinguish hydrogen from other gases. I've done this many times."

After a moment, Marty's heart began to settle in its normal place and his breathing slowed down again. "That was some serious shit," he remarked, wondering in passing where the hell he had picked up that expression.

Emmett's grin got wider. "Of course," he added innocently, "I could have just checked the battery terminals. Hydrogen always forms at the rod that's connected to the minus terminal."

"Then why the hell didn't you?!" Marty cried bewilderedly. Doc's grin was contagious.

"It's more fun this way." Emmett replied calmly, with a gleam in his eyes.

Marty tried his best to look upset, but failed. He could feel his wide smile pushing up dimples on his cheeks.

"You haven't asked me what the deuterium is _for_," Emmett remarked slyly. Seeing Marty's quizzical look, the older man continued:

"It's for another project that I have been working on simultaneously with the time machine. But as the temporal experiments demanded most of my time, I was forced to put this one on the back burner."

Since Doc had been working for decades on the time machine, a simultaneous project must go back a long time, Marty realized. His curiosity was piqued.

"What project is…"

At that moment, Marty's words were interrupted by an earsplitting alarm.

"Perfect! The pie is done," Emmett shouted through the noise and hurried to the other end of the garage. Marty followed with his hands pressed against his ears. Wearing a pair of welding gloves, the scientist removed the steaming dish from the oven. The noise subsided.

"You… baked, Doc?" Marty asked, disbelieving. The idea of his friend being domestic seemed more fantastic than any of his projects. The garage was littered with fast food wrappings and paper mugs.

"Well, technically… No. I picked it up earlier at the store. But I heated it," he added hopefully. "Care for a snack?"

In spite of everything, the dish smelled great. Apple pie, apparently. As Marty had rushed through dinner to get to Doc's as soon as possible, he happily accepted the offer.

"This isn't going to be like the ice tea, is it?" he teased. "I mean, these are just plain, ordinary apples, right?"

Emmett chuckled in response as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Both well into their second piece of pie – Marty settled snugly on the couch and Emmett reclining close by in an armchair – the question of what had befallen the DeLorean arose once again.

"So, about the time machine…" Marty began tentatively. He knew the subject must be difficult for Doc who had devoted half his life to realizing that dream.

A shadow fell over Emmett's features and he looked solemnly at the dessert, like his appetite had suddenly vanished. Marty watched him quietly dissect the dish into spoon-sized bites.

"I had to get rid of it. It was just too dangerous." Lost in thought, the older man carefully pushed the small pieces of dessert around on his plate. Finally, he just sat it down on the coffee table. Marty looked morbidly at the chopped-up pie.

"I'm sorry, Doc," he said.

Emmett nodded. Then he brightened:

"So, how's everything at home? And in school?"

The shadow that had been looming around Emmett scurried across to Marty. In this 1985, Emmett naturally knew nothing of Marty's old life, of his former family, of Biff the Bully. He knew the successful McFlys and Marty the Straight-A Student.

"Yeah, everything is great." Marty felt like those words were starting to become his mantra. But Emmett looked dissatisfied.

"What's wrong, Marty?" The sharp, brown eyes were turned on him like a searchlight, their gentle worry dispelling some of the acute gloom on Marty's face.

"Nothing. It's just…" Marty shifted position. "Remember that time in 1955, when I told you my old man had laid out Biff in one punch? And that my dad had never stood up to Biff in his life?"

Emmett nodded severely.

"Well, I think that might have changed the future a bit."

"Great Scott!" the scientist exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"No, it's not…" Marty interjected quickly. "Everything is… fine. It's just a little different."

Then he told Emmett about his old life.

"So," Emmett said hesitantly when Marty had finished, "things changed for the better, then? And you are all right?"

"Yes." Marty moved his head up and down to add force to his assent. "It just takes some getting used to."

Emmett regarded the youth with a look that still held an ounce of skepticism; the eyes squinting thoughtfully, one brow raised a fraction and the lips slightly askew.

"Like, in this 1985, I have a curfew! I have to be home…" Marty cast a glance at the wall of clocks.

"Damn!" He sprang up from the couch, nearly tumbling over the coffee table. The clocks on the wall showed it was almost 11 PM. "I'm late!"

On his way out, Marty noticed that the amplifier had been repaired and all of a sudden he remembered his excuse for going to Doc's in the first place. His guitar was in its usual spot, leaning against the wall near the door. Next time, he thought. Then he called goodnight to his friend and hurried into the night.


	4. Fusion

"Would you hand me the three-inch wire-cutter, Marty?" Emmett called from somewhere behind the controls of his latest project. This new endeavor also involved a water tank, but it was much bigger and bulkier than the deuterium still and it was resting on a solid fundament of concrete. The controls were inconveniently located at the back, jammed between the massive cylinder and the garage wall and extending underneath the tank.

"Sure Doc," came the breezy reply, followed by sounds of shuffling and the clank of metal to the floor, the contents of Emmett's toolbox being ransacked. In Marty's defense, Emmett was not much for being organized. Einstein did not so much as raise an ear. He simply curled up more snuggly in his basket, accustomed to the buzz of activity and the sporadic calls and excited outbursts of his master.

Marty rounded the tank and wedged himself into the small confine between the cylinder and the wall. A pair of legs in white overalls took up most of the floor space.

"This the one, Doc?" Marty called, slightly shouting.

Moments later, Emmett's head shot out from underneath the tank. It had that half-bewildered look and intent eyes that Marty had come to know as Doc's ordinary expression when he was focused on some especially demanding task. The white hair in more disarray than usual, a smudge of grime on his face and front of the overall, and the eyebrows furrowed in concentration above that eagle's stare rendered him a somewhat wild expression.

"Yes, thank you," Emmett replied calmly, in stark contrast to the mild alarm on his face, took the tool from Marty and immediately dived back under the tank.

Marty, who had spent several of his adolescent years in Emmett's garage, assisting him on his various projects and inventions, remained where he was. With time, he had developed a sixth sense for when the other man would need a hand. The space was utterly cramped and Doc's position seemed anything but comfortable. Lying on his back, with one foot braced against the wall, and the other leg twisted in an ungainly angle, he was clearly much too tall to fit properly in the working area.

After a couple of minutes, however, the older man reappeared, awkwardly getting to his feet while tracing a line of insulated wiring running up the tank. There was a short ladder welded to the side of the cylinder, reaching almost to the top. A little above midways, the set of cables disappeared into a control box. Emmett climbed the handful of steps to reach the box. Balancing precariously on the rung, and with one arm hooked through the side rail, he started tinkering with the loose ends of the wire. Marty watched the scientist's elbows jab the air and imagined he could see the movements becoming increasingly agitated.

Soon enough, Marty heard some huffed noises, a clang and a heated "Damn!"

Emmett retreated from the control box with a look of utter frustration on his face. He took out a rag from a side pocket and wiped his face momentarily while he reposed on the ladder.

"Blasted bolt clamps!" Emmett cursed with a whirling gesture of the wire-cutter to emphasize his agitation.

"Need some help, Doc?" Marty offered.

Emmett had let his eyes slid shut for a moment as he clung to the side rail, relaxing his aching muscles and shifting position of his legs so that they were now both resting relatively safely on the ladder. It was far too hot in there and the work was demanding a level of flexibility and dexterity beyond his physical constitution.

He opened his eyes and looked down at Marty, standing there in a pair of blue jeans and a red t-shirt, hands half-stuck into his back-pockets and an alert, wide-eyed "at the ready" expression on his face.

Barely five-foot-five, the youth stood with relative ease in the small space behind the tank. It would be much easier for Marty to maneuver on the ladder and work in the control box, but he would need guidance on the engineering procedure if he were to put the parts and wiring together. Luckily, Marty was a smart kid, and a fast learner. Emmett smiled in appreciation.

"Thanks Marty, that would be great. I think you might actually be able to reach in there." He climbed down.

Marty took the wire-cutter and put one foot on the ladder. The frictionless alloy underneath his sneaker felt perilously smooth.

"You'll need this too." Emmett handed him an extractor and a flashlight.

"All right, Doc, what should I do?"

The scientist gave him a fast tutorial. "There are eight bolts in twin rows. Behind each is a clamp. You need to insert the cable into each clamp, but first cut the ends half an inch. The tricky part is to fasten the bolts with the wiring in place…" Marty listened intently with interjecting nods to show he understood. Then he placed his other foot on the ladder and climbed the steps to the control box.

Marty got to the box and pointed the flashlight at the mechanics. There was the twin row of bolts and the unattached cable. Taking the cutter in his right hand while jamming the flashlight between his shoulder and chin, he set to work to open the clamps. He relayed his progress to Emmett who replied with a string of instructions and advice.

After a while it became apparent that there was no way to fasten the bolts without an extra set of hands to hold the cable in place.

"Doc, you need to get up here," Marty called.

"There's not room enough for two people on the ladder," Emmett replied with a shake of his head.

Well, there wasn't, Marty conceded.

"Wait!" Emmett edged himself out of the space behind the tank and disappeared.

Shortly thereafter, the older man returned with a number of crates that he shoved through the narrow tract. The largest box would not fit and had to be discarded, but the remaining three slid through easily enough on end. Arranging the boxes in descending order with respect to size, Emmett piled them on top of each other. Then he took one tentative step and climbed up on the first box. The pyramid of crates shook ominously. There was little room for his feet. A strip of wood on the edge gave way and Emmett nearly lost his balance.

"I think it's better if I do that," Marty said. "You take the ladder." He climbed down. The place was so cramped that they both had to step out into the garage simply to change positions.

The pile of boxes wobbled slightly under his feet, but Marty reached the control box without incident. In the meantime, Emmett had climbed back up the ladder and was attaching a carabiner to his tool belt, and subsequently hooking himself to one of the rungs. Carefully, he tested the stability by leaning backwards a little, then slowly letting go.

"Ha!" Emmett grinned, flexing his fingers. "Now I can work freely with both hands!"

"Great," Marty said, with an uncertain glance at the belt. Then he turned his attention back to the controls. Emmett pointed the flashlight at the bolts and clamps.

"If you can hold down the cable ends while I fasten the bolts…" Marty motioned with the extractor. Emmett nodded in agreement. Leaning out over the side rail as far as the carabiner would permit, he reached into the box to get at the wire. Marty shifted position carefully to give his friend as much room as possible.

While struggling neck-to-neck with the cable attachment, Marty momentarily angled his face toward Emmett. Pausing with the extractor while the other man was busy inserting the loose ends, the youth covertly observed the look of concentration on his friend's face. Squinting, the scientist's eyes had become razor sharp and the rather prominent nose added to the aquiline impression. Marty breathed. There was a faint scent of coffee in the air that he had not noticed before. The garage was baking, the air a bit thin and his feet were starting to go a little numb from his awkward posture. He did not dare to reposition himself, as the slightest movement sent the crates swaying. Still, it was nice, Marty thought, smiling, being there with Doc, working closely together on some ridiculous invention.

Lost in his thoughts, it took a while before Marty realized that Emmett had halted in his doings and was looking at him just as intently, his expression somewhat absent but not unkind.

"Doc?" Marty's voice sounded unfamiliarly hoarse.

Emmett blinked.

"Oh! Right," he said, almost startled, and dove back into the control box, furrowing his brow. His attention was once again fully on the bolts. Marty could hear Emmett mumble something under his breath and his face was contorted with strain as he tried to twist his hand to get his fingers to support the cable. But the angle was impossible and he could not get a hold of the ends. Marty was ready with the extractor, but the wire kept sliding out of position before he could get at the bolts.

"Blasted!" Emmett exclaimed a little more vividly than intended. This made Marty jump slightly and sent the crates rocking dangerously under his feet.

"Sorry," Emmett said apologetically, grabbing Marty quickly by the shoulder to steady him. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't mean to give you a start."

"It's okay, Doc. Maybe if I…" Marty handed Emmett the extractor and reached into the hatch with his free hand. This changed division of labor seemed to work better. Marty's hands were small enough to get a permanent hold of the wire ends inside the hatch.

"I think I've got the wire," Marty said. "If you can fasten the bolts…"

Emmett rotated the extractor. He could not quite see what he was doing, since Marty's hands were taking up most of the space inside the box, but there was no need for unobstructed vision as he could feel for the position of the bolts with the tool. It was slow progress, but eventually all eight bolts, wire and clamps were fastened tight.

"Ha!" Emmett let out a cry of triumph as the last bolt stopped rotating.

"All right, Doc!" Marty said, smiling.

"That should do it." Emmett looked pleased. He shoved the extractor into one of the pockets of his tool belt.

Right then, the middle crate gave way. Marty let out a cry and dropped the flashlight. He felt in terror how his weight shifted backwards as his feet scrambled for support but found nothing but air. Everything happened in the blink of an eye. Just as he knew he was falling, he felt something grab him with compelling force. Marty clung desperately to the hold. It was not that high, but falling on one's back onto the collapsed wooden crates could still mess you up pretty bad.

"Got you, kiddo!" Emmett said in a strained voice. "Can you reach the ladder?"

Emmett was holding on to him with both arms, relying on the carabiner to support them both. If it broke, or the belt snapped, they would crash to the floor, Marty realized. He had to take a moment to steady his breath and plan his next move. Clutching the fabric of the overall, he tightened his hold around Emmett's shoulder with his left arm. Then, with his free hand, he felt for the rungs of the ladder. In the feeble light, the smooth alloy blended with the wall of the tank. But he found a bar and was shortly able to pull himself onto the handrail. Emmett held on until he was sure Marty had a secure hold. As soon as Marty had climbed down, Emmett scrambled onto the steps, unhooked the carabiner and followed. His feet back on the solid floor, the older man let out an audible breath and a whistle. Perspiration trickled down his temple.

"You okay, Marty?" The sable hair on the youth was a bit ruffled and there was a smudge of oil on his left cheek.

"Yeah, fine." Marty smiled shyly. He looked up at Emmett but his gaze darted away. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Emmett said cheerfully, giving him a hearty pat on the arm. Then he regarded the mess of broken crates, sighed, wiped his forehead and shrugged: "How 'bout a break?"

Sipping from a half-full bottle of Pepsi, Marty was sitting on the floor with his legs pulled up. Clearly too wound up to rest, Emmett was pacing the garage, rummaging about for a tool or a sketch or some other essential item. Stopping finally by the chalkboard to examine some hastily scribbled calculations, Emmett asked enigmatically:

"How's the soda, Marty? Properly cooled, I hope?"

The bottle was just out of the fridge. It felt icy against Marty's palm and his fingers had gotten a bit stiff as they wrapped around the glass.

"Um, yes, it's fine. Definitely cold."

"Yes, in contrast to the garage. In here, it's awfully warm; I have some extra equipment running. Hot and cold! Heat, Marty – the movement of particles!" Emmett spun around with a mischievous expression on his face. Grinning, Marty took another sip of his Pepsi and settled back against the side of a work bench. He sensed an entertaining lecture coming.

"Sometimes when there is great heat and pressure, particles will come together." Emmett picked up an orange from a nearby table. "Take the sun, for example. At its center it is millions of degrees hot." The older man peered at the orange as he was holding it up towards the lamp between his thumb and index finger. "Under these conditions, hydrogen atoms will fuse into helium. And, as a byproduct, a vast amount of energy is generated. This process is called hot fusion."

"Now imagine," Emmett continued while lowering the orange, his voice simultaneously dropping an octave but gaining in intensity, "if we could replicate the process of fusion here on earth! We'd have cheap, nearly endless energy!"

"So, your project… The one you have been working on together with the time machine…?" Marty looked at the tank at the far end of the garage.

Emmett carelessly tossed the orange over his shoulder. It landed in an armchair. "Cold fusion!" He exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. Even Einstein raised his head for an instant.

"Whoa, Doc, you're not creating a sun in there, are you?" Marty asked skeptically. A few weeks ago, he would not have asked such a ludicrous thing. But that was before he had gone back to 1955 in a time machine that Doc had invented. "Because you know, a sun, that sounds…explosive," Marty added nervously.

"What? No, no, cold fusion will take place at room temperature." The older man took up a chalk and started drawing on the board. "First you need a tank with heavy water."

"That's what the still is for!" Marty interjected.

"Exactly. I need to produce a fair amount of deuterium. Then this tank must then be properly insulated to make sure no heat from the surroundings can reach the heavy water. After that, I will employ a similar process of electrolysis, but one of the rods will be made of palladium. Hydrogen, or rather deuterium, may come together to form helium on a palladium surface and give off excess heat." Emmett drew a schematic of the tank. "This thermometer here will take continuous measurements of the water. Any sudden rise in temperature will be proof of cold fusion taking place."

"Okay, Doc, that sounds…really exciting." Marty did not quite follow all the science but he smiled encouragingly to show he was impressed.

"Ah, Marty, it is the holy grail of science! At least in modern time, with the latest oil crisis and all. Just imagine – cheap, clean energy!" Emmett dropped down next to Marty with a dreamy, faraway look on his face. "Proving the existence of cold fusion…" His voice trailed off.

"I bet that would raise some attention in Hill Valley," Marty admitted.

Emmett laughed.

"It would be the Nobel Prize," the older man said casually. "But just think of the good it could do for the progress of mankind! There would be no further need to fight over energy resources." He smiled and sighed, leaning against the bench.

Neither of them said anything for a while. They simply sat there, surrounded by the incessant murmur and clicks of machines and assorted contraptions. The still in particular contributed a fair amount of purrs and fizzles. In the relative silence it became evident that some sounds repeated, like interwoven loops. There was almost a rhythm to it.

Then, all the clocks on the wall went off in near-unison, signaling that it was midnight. The cacophony of cuckoos and bells drowned everything else. Marty and Emmett shared a smile and a look of resignation. Luckily, the alarm was short-lived. And more luckily still, it was not a school night, so there was no curfew for Marty to keep.

Emmett looked at his hands and turned them over. Then he sighed and wiped them on his overalls. His lab garment needed washing after the bout with the cold fusion tank. Looking at Marty, he smirked and took out his rag. After finding a clean corner, he leaned over and wiped off the smudge of oil on the youth's face.

"There," he said, and put the rag back in his side pocket. He had to fuss a bit with the button, which was apparently coming off. His lab garment would need some extra attendance.

When he looked up again, he was suddenly looking straight into Marty's wide, blue eyes, no more than two inches from his own. He froze, his own unblinking eyes growing large. He could feel the silent bursts of Marty's warm breath on his face. The small nose, the flushed cheeks, the look of uncertainty, the slight tremble – as he took it all in, every coherent thought escaped him. Then, before he could recover any use of his brain, Marty leaned in and closed the distance.

It was like a blitz of white light seared through Emmett's mind. His heart was racing furiously but the rest of his body seemed to have dissolved. Somewhere, his hands were fruitlessly grappling at the floor and his back was pressed up against the work bench. But such non-essential sensory impressions were hopelessly lost; the world consisted only of a nose wedged against his, a pair of hands holding his shoulders, a brush of lashes against his cheek and a pair of lips kissing him.

"Marty…" he breathed into the teen's mouth, while fighting hard for control. Finding his hands somehow rematerialized, he got gentle hold of Marty's arms and softly but firmly pushed him away. He never blushed, yet now he could feel the heat on his face. Emmett found himself struggling hard for words and courage. He raised his eyes shyly. To his surprise, Marty looked almost as alarmed as he felt. Uncertainty, fear and perhaps humiliation could be read in the youth's face. Emmett was acutely aware of his own rejecting stance, still holding Marty away from him and keeping him in place with his arms fully extended. Carefully, Emmett released him and slowly pulled back his hands as if letting go of a house of cards that might collapse at any moment.

"This… This is not a good idea," he said in a shaky but gentle voice. He watched Marty intently, his arms still instinctively held out. Marty looked away, looked down, frowned and while still breathing hard through his mouth, bit his lower lip. He remained silent, refusing to look at his friend. There was hurt in his face, and fear, that made Emmett feel a growing despair to offer some words of reassurance.

"It's all right, Marty," he said hurriedly. Under any other circumstances Emmett would simply have hugged him and patted him on the back. Now he had to keep a distance and it was tearing at them both.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Marty stammered. He swallowed, his eyes looking anywhere but at the older man.

"It's all right," Emmett repeated, relieved Marty was speaking to him. "Look," he said, regaining some of his confidence, "you're young. And at your age it is perfectly normal… You have a lot of hormones and that makes people act a bit…erratically."

This did not seem to do much to lessen Marty's anxiety. At the last word, the young man merely rolled his eyes and with a frustrated move raked his hand through his hair. Then all of a sudden, he looked up at Emmett. There was a hint of defiance, almost, that Emmett had no clue what to make of. But before he had time to ponder about it, the emotional landscape on the youth's face shifted and far more acute concern came over Marty.

"I ruined everything, Doc. I'm sorry…" He swallowed hard to dam up the pools that were filling at the corners of his eyes.

"You, me. I ruined it." He bit his teeth together but he could not stop the tears. Quickly, he got to his feet.

Emmett also bolted to his feet, reaching after Marty in equal distress.

"Marty!"

He got hold of the teen's arm, his grip soft, but Marty made no effort to pull away. The bare skin felt a fraction warmer than Emmett's palm.

"You haven't done anything wrong and I'm not upset!" Emmett was desperately searching for the right thing to say, afraid that if he did not find it, he would lose Marty forever. This was a new experience and the floor that had felt so solid just a while ago, now seemed uncertain under Emmett's feet. "We'll always be friends," he said with a faint smile, willing the words to be true.

At that he felt Marty lean slightly into his hold. Emmett did not dare to move. He kept his hand where it was – still, unwavering.

Marty nodded in silent consent to Emmett's avowal of friendship. He even managed a small smile. Yet the exchange had them both looking at each other as if across a void. Neither of them said anything else. Marty got his jacket and keys but he left the guitar. _That means he intends to return_, Emmett thought with relief. He was still staring at the door, minutes after Marty was gone.


	5. The Lonely Scientist

It had been two weeks. Emmett put the small heap of mail on the crowded table. A couple of bills, a request for renewed membership for the Niels Bohr Society, a flyer with some religious content and a padded envelope from Edison & Co, no doubt containing the special relays he had ordered. There were no personal letters or postcards, of course.

The smell of pancakes had lingered since breakfast.

"Come on, boy," he called, and Einstein came lazily sauntering through the open garage door. True to his usual routine, the dog headed for his basket after the morning walk, circling around a few times on the cushion before contentedly lying down to rest. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and unseasonably warm. "Indian summer," they had said on the radio weather forecast. It was expected to last for the rest of the month.

Sunlight came slanting in through the dusty windows, casting bleak rectangles on the floor and bouncing off the Newton pendulum and assorted glass containers and Erlenmeyer flasks on tables and shelves. But a gleam in particular caught Emmett's eye. Leaning against a chair was Marty's guitar, the sun's rays catching the strings like golden arrows on a bow. A twisting cable connected the instrument to a set of sound controls. Heart-stricken, Emmett turned away.

The place felt empty. More empty than it had in years. Perhaps even more empty than it had felt after that one week in 1955. The chalkboard had not been used in a while and there was still an unfinished session of Hangman next to a set of Schrodinger equations. On the wall, the clocks were ticking away, lending the place an erratic, barely noticeable, artificial heartbeat. The eyes of the cat clock, the owl clock and the poodle clock were looking blindly right and left in near-perfect synchronization. Marty would be heading for school at about this time. Quite often, he would stop by Emmett's place on his way, bringing in the morning paper as he did, or taking Einstein for a quick walk. Sometimes, there would even be time to spare for breakfast.

Such mornings were wonderful. They would have eggs or toast or pancakes together, the coffee machine spreading an aroma of Arabic beans to mix with the oils and chemicals of the lab. Although the scientist was not quite in his most talkative mood before he had had his first cup of coffee for the day, he much appreciated Marty's presence and listened attentively when the teen would tell him about some school assignment or the latest ignominy of his brother or sister. He would nod between sips, put some jam on a half-burnt piece of toast and read the paper while simultaneously taking in the fundamentals of Marty's cheerful chatter. It was a good feeling. The place felt like a home at those times. Then Marty would be off for school if it was a weekday and Emmett would start working on his current project, whatever that happened to be.

_When had things changed?_ Marty had been fifteen the first time they had met. Well, that was not the first time temporally speaking. But still, that had been a little more than two years ago, when the scientist had woken up in the middle of the night from a crash to find that someone had just broken into his garage and knocked over his automatic shoelace tier. The kid had frozen to the spot in the 100W flashlight Emmett had pointed at him (there had been a power shortage due to a recent burnout of the fuse box and he had been all out of fuses). Toppling over backwards as the scientist had burst out with an exuberant "Marty!", the boy had stammered in a sting of high-pitched words that he had not stolen anything and that his friends had put him up to it and would he please not shoot him, and that he would never break in again. Then the wide-eyed kid sprawling on the floor had been mercilessly attacked by Einstein, who had jumped up on his chest and licked him across the face, cutting off the last part of the apology.

Emmett smiled at the recollection. He had hired Marty on the spot to take Einstein for walks. To explain how he had known Marty's name, the scientist had been compelled to fabricate a story. It had been something vague about having seen him around in Hill Valley. After all, like most people, he knew a number of persons by name even though he was not acquainted with them. You pick up a name here, a face there, in passing.

Soon, Marty had started assisting him on his projects. The boy was clever and had a genuine interest in understanding how things worked. At first, the scientist had paid him for his help, but somehow they had abandoned that arrangement and Marty had started to come over just to hang around in his spare time, sometimes practicing on his electric guitar, sometimes simply doing his homework by the dinner table or working with Emmett in the lab.

Of course, Emmett had known that he was to meet Marty someday, and that in October 1985, now four weeks ago, they would be standing in a deserted parking lot in the middle of the night to test the greatest invention of his life. So naturally, it had made sense to keep Marty around. But no matter how logical that argument was, it was not the real reason, and Emmett knew it. Truth was, he liked Marty.

_When had things changed?_ Six months ago, Marty had introduced him to one of his friends, Jennifer Parker. Emmett had known that was coming, too, but he still had not been quite prepared for the sting of jealousy he had silently felt. He knew Marty would not forever be coming to spend time at his place, but no matter how selfish that seemed, he still wished he could hold on to that a bit longer.

_Was that it? Six months ago?_ But the truth was far more complicated, as Emmett was aware. Thirty years ago, late one night, he had been working on a mind-reading device, when he had been interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door. He had eventually opened it just enough to peek through, only to see a somewhat distraught-looking kid standing there, dressed in jeans and an outlandish red life preserver. At first, Emmett had thought it was some of the local kids coming to harass him again, banging on the port and running away. He got a lot of that. He was the town's… well, eccentric or nutcase, depending on who you asked.

But something about this kid – the bearing, the expression, the honest-looking blue eyes maybe – had told him instantly that this was no ordinary prank. Also, the fact that the kid had not run away before Emmett had opened the door and that he did not recognize him as one of the local rascals, like that Tannen scoundrel or one of his thugs, suggested his visitor had not come to doorbell-ditch or throw eggs at his windows.

The kid's timing had been perfect, though. Copernicus's thoughts were far too easy to guess to make the dog a scientifically acceptable subject. Emmett got only images of canned food, but he could not be sure whether those images were the actual result of transmitted brain waves or simply the product of his own imagination. He had needed another subject, a human subject, to try the device on. But there had only been Emmett himself there in the mansion, and he had not known who to ask. The mailman, on Thursday, maybe? But here had been this kid, standing on his doorstep. Perfect! With no more consideration, he had abruptly pulled Marty inside and closed the door.

That was their first meeting, thirty years ago. Emmett recalled with some regret that he had been a mite brusque and bad-mannered, shouting impatiently to the kid to be quiet (so as not to reveal any thoughts and destroy the experiment). Living alone, he got few chances to socialize, and so his people skills had not exactly been polished. And, like most of his projects, the mind reading device had turned out to fall equally short.

In the midst of that latest disappointment this kid had come with the most absurd, the most preposterous story he had ever heard: that he was a visitor from the year 1985 in a time machine that he, Doctor Emmett Brown, had invented. At that point, or at least as soon as the words had sunk in, Emmett had reevaluated his initial thought and decided that the kid was indeed a prankster who had come to play a practical joke on the nutty scientist. Possibly he had made a bet with some friends. Or lost a bet. But the kid had seemed amiable enough, and was putting in a lot of effort to sell the joke, and Emmett to his surprise had found the situation slightly amusing. But he had also been pressed for time, and after some loony back-and-forth about the state of the future, Emmett had tried to shake off this desperate youth who was attaching himself like glue to his presence. As Emmett was running off to his garage, the kid had still been hot on his heels. And slamming the door in Marty's face had only had him pounding on it furiously, frantically trying to get the scientist to believe in his story.

Well, he had believed it, moments later, when from behind the closed door, Marty had despondently accounted for the bruise on Emmett's forehead. He had told him how a week earlier, the scientist had been standing on his toilet, hanging a clock, when he had slipped and hit his head on the sink, and how in the process he had come up with the idea of the flux capacitor. No one knew about it, except the scientist himself. And a kid he would apparently tell the story to, thirty years later. Moments thereafter, they had been headed out of town to retrieve the hidden time machine.

Marty had pushed into Emmett's life. Twice. Returning to the present, Emmett looked around the garage. It was all that remained of his estate after the fire, and with most of his family fortune spent on realizing the time machine, there was not much left after three decades. But it did not matter. The invention had worked; he had accomplished something in his lifetime. True, he would not receive any recognition. No one could ever know about the time machine. But by God, it had worked! Emmett looked at the four black-and-white portraits on the wall above the head of his bed. With the faces gazing back at him approvingly, Emmett remembered the sense of joy and vindication he had felt upon seeing the flux capacitor pulsating for the first time.

Emmett Brown had no family left. His ancestors, the von Brauns, had emigrated from Germany at the early 20th century. He had been an only child. His mother had died from pneumonia when Emmett was a toddler and soon thereafter, his father had travelled north in search of adventure in the wake of the gold rush. He was never heard from again. Emmett had grown up with his well-to-do grandparents. Lacking nothing materialistically, the boy had been relatively free to cultivate his interests. His grandfather had been a scholar and had given him Julius Verne's _To the moon_ at his eleventh birthday. The kind, but stern, old man had always nourished the hope that young Emmett would choose a literary course in life. But Verne had kindled an early interest in science and to his grandfather's disapproval, the boy had devoted his adolescence to exclusively reading the publications of Einstein, Bohr, Curie and other pioneers of progress. Emmett smiled sadly at Newton, Franklin, Edison and Einstein crowding above his pillow.

He had led a lonely, unsuccessful life, and then suddenly, one day (or night), there was Marty pounding on his door, telling him that he, Emmett Brown, would one day for certain be able to take his place among the greatest scientists of history. No wonder he liked Marty! The rest of that week in 1955 had been a race against the clock to make adjustments so that the DeLorean could be sent back through time. There had also been some complications with events influencing the timeline that had needed sorting out. It had been intense, but they had managed to have everything come together at the exact moment of the lightning strike, sending the time machine, and Marty, back to the future. There had not been much time to dwell on things. Still ecstatic about his future success, Emmett had not given too much thought to his imminent loss. For there was going to be such. But it was not until they had been standing there, in the blustery storm outside the Town Hall, that it had finally started to catch up to him that there was a downside to this fantastic event. As Marty had unexpectedly drawn him into that embrace, the first serious inertia of regret had hit him. He had been so preoccupied with this incredible invention of his, that he had been oblivious to other things. Then, he had discovered the letter in his pocket and like a fool he had given Marty a hard time about how he refused to know anything about the future. He had always regretted that, and they had more or less parted on those terms. Marty had never known. But when Emmett was standing there on the ledge of the clock tower, looking after the DeLorean as it raced to the starting point, he had let fly a kiss after Marty under the cover of night.

The three following decades Emmett had devoted to constructing the time machine. He had never married or had any kids. Not that he had ever given it much thought. He was happy as long as he had his work. To wander off in his mind into the fantastic world of relativity, solving equations, or setting up a thermodynamic experiment out of a thermos and a battery cell never failed to get his heart racing. Science had been the love of his life. Anything beyond that was just…romantic nonsense.

With that, Emmett sat down at his workstation. He switched on the reading lamp and began shuffling through the scattered sheets of electrochemistry calculations for the cold-fusion experiment that he had been working on last night. He was missing something; the numbers did not add up. It certainly was not the first time. Working on the time machine, Emmett had been forced to return to the board more times than he could remember. It had been frustrating, but revising a hypothesis or redesigning a test was all part of the process. Science is often a matter of trial and error, Emmett understood. There was a challenge even to adversity that had always spurred him.

But now the figures seemed dull and pointless as they swirled before his eyes. Emmett strained to concentrate. The light felt too bright, the chair too hard. Everything _looked_ okay – the heat integral, the energy-input rate… He rubbed his temples in agony. Certain problems, he knew, required a flash of genius. But the passion to spark the genius appeared to have evaporated. Was it possible that science was failing him? The clever exothermic reactions did not manage to speed up his pulse. The anomalous enthalpy of the system was not able to make his heart skip a beat. Emmett regarded the numbers stonily. Something was wrong. _He was missing something…_

With a pang in his chest, Emmett switched the lamp off and pushed the chair back. He knew exactly what he was missing. He turned his back on his work, got up and started to pace the garage again. His mind was replaying his last meeting with Marty. Had he said the right thing? Should he have done something differently? Emmett did not know; he lacked experience with such things. Ask him how velocity affects the relative expansion of an object along its axis of movement, or anything about the quantum tunneling of charged particles through a potential well, and he would be able to lay out the facts. This, however, was something entirely different. One thing alone Emmett felt certain about: he had come too close to losing Marty and their friendship. And although it seemed as if they had patched things up before they parted – and Emmett still believed that Marty would show up on his doorstep any day now – the nagging worry would not leave. If Marty – _when_ Marty returned, Emmett would show him that he thought nothing of that little incident and Marty need not worry about feeling awkward or embarrassed. They would pretend that it never happened and never talk about it again. After all, it was just a mistake, a moment's confusion. It had to be. And the next time Marty came by, everything would be fine. Just like before. At this reasoning, Emmett felt a little relieved and he sank down into the armchair.

The place needed tidying up, as always. Emmett looked around, feeling drained. There was dishes in the sink, a box of half-eaten pizza on the table, tools and scattered constructing material on the floor. On a footstool was an empty bottle of Pepsi. Emmett's eyes lingered on the soda. He did not drink the stuff himself; he bought those only for Marty. But in a flash – the temperature on his cheeks rising rapidly – he recalled the flavor perfectly. As if under a spell, Emmett had to tear his gaze away from the object. Suppressing a surge of panic, he willed his heartbeat back to normal and tried to push the memory aside. With a miserable sigh, Emmett leaned on the arm of the chair and buried his face in his hand.

Then, he felt a soft nudge and as he looked up, Einstein was resting his head on his knee. The dark eyes regarded him pitifully under the furry brows. Emmett smiled with affection.

"Thanks Einie. I'm okay," he said, gently stroking the dog behind the ears. "I bet you miss him too."

Einstein made a little guttural grunt that sounded most lamentable. He rested his chin heavily against his master and looked both moping and depressed.

"All right, come here," Emmett said, and the dog promptly jumped up and burrowed in Emmett's lap. It was not exactly comfortable, since Einstein was much too big to be a lapdog, but the scientist was glad for the company nevertheless.

"He'll be back. Soon," Emmett said quietly, to no one in particular. His gaze wandered around the garage, just as aimlessly as the eyes of the cat clock, the owl clock and the poodle clock. The sun had moved in the sky and the strings on Marty's guitar were muted and indistinct. And as the silence grew wider, Emmett could make out the artificial heartbeat of the place.


End file.
